Being
by ThePenguinsSteal
Summary: He was tired. Tired of waiting. Tired of watching. Tired of being. But most of all, He was tired of them.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue.**_

He was tired.

Tired of waiting.

Tired of watching.

Tired of _being_.

But most of all, He was tired of _them_. They scurried around His domain like rats in a maze. Contaminating it with their sins. Poisoning His sanctuary. And all the could do was watch and wait.

Wait, until the light receded and the darkness consumed. _Then_. Only then could He take His revenge.

Cast aside those who abandoned the light. Those that taint it. Destroy it. And hell shall arise from the their ashes.

He would be there.

Always Waiting.

Always Watching.

Always _Being_.


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Silent Hill. I'm Just Messing Around With It.

_**Chapter One.**_

_He could hear them. _

_Their breath's coming out in short, frightened pants. Who was it? Man or beast? He strolled forward. Dragging the giant knife behind Him. A deep groove left in His wake. Blood stained the white porcelian skin, drawn taught over toned muscles. The red helmet swilved to the left. There. He could smell them. The taint of blood_. _Darkness_. Sin. _He ambled forward. Towering through the fog, like a false beacon of hope. _

_The sound of metal. The faint scatter of feet. They were _running.

_**----**_

She was cold.

Wet.

_Alone_.

Her shorts were soaked. Her shirt was ruined, covered in a mud like sludge. Her head ached. Blood trailed down Her wrist. Where was She? How'd she get here? The fog swirled around Her, obscuring Her surroundings. The sound of metal grating on cement filtered into Her hearing. She scrambled to Her feet. Every muscle in Her body screaming, telling Her to run. She edged backwards. Her breath coming out in short, frightened pants. She could see the towering silhouette, edging towards Her.

The sound of metal. The scuffing of Her shoes. She was _running_.

_**----**_

_He enjoyed the chase. _

_Relished in it._

_The prize always tasted sweeter in the end._

_He crepted along the desolated streets. Watching. Always watching. The scent of lilacs wafted through the air. An odd smell. Different. New. Strange compared to the usual scent of burnt flesh and charcoal. This was no wanderer from the abomination they called a church . This was someone new. An outsider._ _Movement from the edge of His vision caused Him to cease His pursuit. Someone was running towards the His domian. His santuary. The outisder would have to wait. _

_The doors hung open ominously. Half propped up againts rusted hinges. Dried blood and dust coated the walls and floors. Pieces of concrete crumbled under His weight. Fresh prints dusted along the entrance and turned left towards the stairs. He would find them. Dismember them and drag their worthless carcass through the monster infested streets. Then He shall plast it above the doors of their sacred church. Perhaps then. Only then will they see that _He _was judegment. That _He_ was watching._

_He aproached the stairs. The sound of His mighty weapon dragging along the floor filled the empty corridor. A long tongue slowly unfurled from the the confines of His helmet. It flicked once. Twice. Tasting the surrounding air. The distinct flavour of male invaded is senses. _

_A sacrificial lamb left to the wolves to abait the pack._

_He could hear the pathetic whimpers and whines. Was the little lamb lost? Afraid? _

_The rattling of a doorknob. Fingers scratching at old wood. The soft cry of despair._

_He continued ascending. The stairs creaked under His weight. He approached the second floor. Door long gone due to the ravages of time. He proceeded to locate His unwanted guest._

_Their breathing grew louder. The prints left in the dust seemed to merge into another. Doors lined the hall. Each locked or non-existent. And at the end, alone in the dark. He could see them. Trying feebly to open the last door. He scraped His mighty weapon along the ground. Alerting the sorry-excuse for a man of His presence._

_They whipped around. Back edged close to the door. Eyes wide. Tears starting to run down their cheeks. He started forward. Eyes locked._

_He locked His hand around their neck and dragged them up until they reached the level of His eyes. He could see them. The sins of their past. _

_The sound of a child screaming. The stain of blood on their hands. The taste of the innocent._

_He dropped his mighty weapon. A deafening clang shifting through the air. He was going to enjoy this. He grabbed their left arm and started to pull. The sound of bones cracking and flesh tearing brought a sinister smile to His face. _

_"St-Stop! Please!"_

_He ignored their cries. Placing more pressing on their air supply He continued His assualt on their limbs. Their cries soon died down and all that good be heard were small gurgles and splatters of dying breath._

_A deafening shriek from afar. The sound of death. _

_He dropped the mangled body. Licking the blood from His hands, He retrieves His knife. It was time to see what the outsider had gotten themselves into. And hopefully, there would be something left for Him to enjoy._

_**----**_

It was official. She was going to die. That thing was going to rip Her to shreds. She ran blindly through the fog until She could no longer hear the deep sound of His booted feet hitting the pavement.

She turned down the nearest alley, hiding behind the closest thing available. She crouched down, covered Her mouth. And tried desperately to drown out Her heated breaths.

The air grew frigid. Goosebumps erupted upon Her arms. The fog seemed to thicken around Her. It wasn't safe. She slowly unfurled Her body from it's crouched position. Leaning againts the dirt encrusted wall, She turned Her head and listened to the noises that surrounded Her.

Leaves flattering in the breeze. Dried branches rubbing together. The faint sound of cries in the distance.

She shuffled towards the opening of the alley. Hand planted firmly on the wall, using it as a guide. She peeked an eye around the edge of the wall.

Buildings. Old and decrepid filled Her vision. Streets lined with dirt , rusted cars and was that soot? She angled Her head upwards, black clouds raged onwards. Sprinkly snow like follocules. She reached out to catch a stray snow-like flake. She rubbed it between Her thumb and fore-finger, leaving behind a gray stain. That wasn't snow. The sky was raining ash.

She cautiously walked forward. Ears open for the deep thrum of booted feet. She stopped in the middle of the street. Body tensed. Ready to flee. A payphone to Her right warrants Her attention. Racing towards it, heart pounding in anticipation. She picks up the receiver and dials a number etched into Her fingertips. A gentle rythym of ringing. The sound of being answered.

"Hello?"

A dead silence answers. She repeats the process. Dial. Gentle ringing. Silence. With a deep resounding sigh She replaces the receiver on it's cradle. She leans againts the booth and slides down. Knees drawn up to her chest, arms cradling Her head. She squeezes Her eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears.

The crunch of gravel. A desolated moan. The stench of death.

Her head whipped up. Eyes widening at the sight. A small child like monster jerked towards her. Arms streached forward, reaching for Her. She screams and jerks backwards. Connecting with the payphone. A sharp pain erupted along Her shoulder blades. She kicked at it's legs. Hoping to disable it so She could run free. It's still came at Her. A deep wail erupting from it's twisted throat. She reached behind Her in a vain attempt at finding a weapon. Her hands came in contact with the previously used phone. She fumbles for the receiver and starts to hit at it's (assumed) face.

It fumbled under Her assault. With that She braced Herself against the booth and kicks with both feet. The gray-child staggered backwards, tripping over it's own feet. It falls and lands with a solid crack.

A deafening shriek filled the air. It was dead.

She slowly walked over to it's body. The toe of Her sneaker nudging at it's side. A single tear rolled down Her cheek. Reality hit, She was going to die here.

_**----**_

_And thats how He found Her. Standing above the dead body of a gray-child. Crying._


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** I Do Not own Silent Hill. I'm Just Messing Around With It.

**Author's Note:** Thanks everyone who reviewed, Your the best. I'm going to apologize to you in advance. It takes awhile for me to complete a chapter, I have to re-write certain paragraphs before I'm happy with it. So, prepare yourself for a bit of a wait.

Also to avoid confusion, when I write "Him" or "Her", I'm referring to the main characters in this story. Lower case versions are used to represent minor roles. If I've forgotten to capitalize some, do let me know. (Thanks Blood-Stained Marionette, I didn't realize.)

I'm not going to name the OC, because then there has to be a description. I hate that. I'd much prefer it for you to imagine what they might look like.

On a lighter note, I present to you Chapter Two.

Enjoy.

_**Chapter Two**_

She had heard His approach. The soft thudding of His boots, the deafening scrape of His weapon. Her body tenses as She slowly raises Her eyes to meet His. The first thing that garnish's Her attention is the pyramid shaped helmet sits seldom upon His shoulders. She takes a small step away from His opposing figure. Small whimpers escape as Her eyes trail over His bloody torso, finally stopping at the Great Knife laying lax at His side.

Was He going to kill Her?

She watch's as He slowly raises His arm, high above His head. A stray beam of light reflecting from the metal shrapnel. She closes Her eyes in anticipation. As the blade swings down, the piercing wail of a siren echo's through the surrounding streets.

Her eyes spring open, fixing upon His frozen form. His arm, grasping His mighty weapon, starts to tremble. She watch's in awe as His mighty physique starts to crumble and float away with the morning breeze.

When the darkness recedes and the light approaches, all that remains is the fragment of a breeze and the distinct smell of death.

_**-----**_

_He was livid._

_He was so close to plunging his weapon deep into Her soft, warm flesh. That was not to be. For He was careless. He should have smelt the dawn approach. Should have felt it worm deep beneath His skin, warning Him of the light._

_But no._

_He had been so caught up in the chase._

_Her scent._

_In _Her_. _

_The darkness shudders around Him, sensing His anger. He takes a deep calming breath and releases it as a distorted hiss. The anger dissipates for a split second._

_When the day ends and the night begins, the darkness will rise._

_As He tilts His face up, we imagine a sickening sneer take over His features. For He knows that it is only a few hours till sunset. Only a few hours till the darkness. Only a few hours for Her to live._

_With that satisfying knowledge. He plunges His weapon deep within the earth and waits._

_**-----**_

She stands where He crumbled. Looking down at Her feet, there is no sign He was even there. No prints of His boots in the ash. No groove from His knife. Nothing. It's as if He didn't exist at all. She turns, the gray-child has vanished with the dark as well.

She takes to wondering the abandoned streets. Her movements, quick and skittish, reveal Her tension. Every ten paces She looks back, watching the shadows for any sign of the awaiting abyss.

Fatigue begins to set in. Her feet begin to drag. The slump of Her shoulders becomes more pronounced. She needs to find some place where she can rest. Some place safe.

A soft breeze shifts through Her hair, a comforting caress in the still. It whispers to Her, urging Her onwards. In the distance She see's the outline of a church. The outline of a _sanctuary_.

The stone steps leading towards the great oak doors, appear old and worn. Pieces of stone, chiseled away with time, had once seen the coming and going of a bursting community. High glass windows, sitting upon the ash-stained walls, reflect what little light escape the gray sky. A symbol, resting upon the roof, watch's the world from above. A symbol of _faith_.

She ascends the stone steps, a feeling of wrongness consumes the air. It grows with each footfall, the crescendo of an opera, reaching it's peak. And as She reaches for the brass handle, the doors slowly creaks open. A man stands in Her way, His dark hair obscures His features. His head tilts to the side, listening to something coming from within. He looks down at Her, ponders for a moment before standing aside. Welcoming Her in.

_**-----**_

_A deafening roar echo's amongst the damned. They shrivel and slink away, hoping to avoid the angry executioner. He had sensed the exact moment She entered the faux church. She had walked straight into the arms of the deceivers._

_As the night draws closer, anticipation settles deep within, bursting to be free. He longs to feel the heat of crimson, the taste of metallic on His tongue. The satisfying crunch brought on by His own hands._

_He breathes deep. He can taste the change in the air._

_The darkness is _coming.

_**-----**_

The air smells stale.

_Dead_.

Someone coughs, small murmurs and scuffles erupt among the inhabitants. They're eyes, dull and unnerving, silently watch Her. She feels as if She's is being dissected and examined.

She turns from their questioning gaze and takes in Her surroundings. Old wooden pews occupy most of the floor space. Many are filled with those deep in pray. Her eyes linger upon them, they seem wrong somehow. Like they don't belong.

A deep-set circle sits with in the church center. What's it's purpose? A balcony over looks the interior, casting looming shadows across the stone floor. The high glass windows seem lifeless and dull in the meek light.

A woman, standing tall and proud, watch's Her with cold calculating eyes.

"I am Christabella. And we welcome you into our sanctuary."

A man nudges Her towards the center, closer to the one named Christabella. Arms wide, she places them upon Her shoulders. In soft, calming voice she speaks.

"Do you have faith?"

"Faith?" She shakes Her head. "No. Why?"

"Our faith keeps the darkness of hell at bay."(1)

"Where am I?"

"Safe. Safe from the Demon's and Their wicked lies. Here you are amongst true believers of the _faith_."

A siren begins to wail.

"We must pray."(2)

Christabella releases Her shoulders and enters the deep circle. With her head bowed she waits for the others. Those standing begin to kneel, hands clasped, eyes closed. They sit still and wait for Christabella to lead them into pray.

_"And I saw the dead, great and small,_

_standing before the throne, and books were opened_

_and each person was judged according to what he had done._

_If anyone's name was not found written in the_

_book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire"(3)_

She wonders from their kneeling forms, the window demands Her attention. As their words fade from Her hearing, She watch's safely from behind the glass as the darkness consumes the surrounding streets, corroding and twisting the faded memories. And as it reaches the stone steps, She see's Him.

His towering physique gaining body and strength from the approaching abyss.

_**-----**_

_(1 - 2) Christabella,Silent Hill Movie, 2006._

_(3) Revelations 20:12-15._


End file.
